St. Valentine
by Marrec
Summary: **Challange Responce** Spike and Buffy are left even more estranged when the Trokia finds a new way to attack the Slayer. -Chapter 3 Uploaded-
1. Prologue

Prologue for "St. Valentine"   
  
Time-line: Immediately after "Dead Things"   
  
Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters/settings, and stuff, represented in the following story, but it isn't illegal to dream is it? (Very likely it is *frown*)   
  
Rating: R for violence, language, sexual content, and bloody poofy vampires with souls...   
  
In response to Nos' challenge on Carnal Sins message boards, Buffy and the gang have to face an old friend, but there is more then meets the eye in this 'lil shindig.   
  
-----------   
  
Darkness, only broken by a pale dispassionate light, filled the cavernous room. All around were the sounds of machines, metallic whurs and scratches blended together, forming a sort of soothing white noise. This was his home, though, not really. His home was above, not in this dank and shut off place, but strangely, he found this place more relaxing. In front of him, the glow of artificial light flooded his vision. One never really got used to that glow, you just adjusted until you could stand it for longer periods of time. He was accustomed to it by now though, and welcomed it, as much as he welcomed the dank smell or the musty feel. This was his home.   
  
With a sigh, Warren forced his thoughts back to the work before him: numbers filed in neat rows and columns. It all looked fine, and probably was. He was the best at this sort of thing after all, but he wanted to make sure. This was dangerous ground they were stepping on. He and the other two had done some pretty risky things before, but this was different, more personal than the rest. Suddenly, his face split into a grin. He loved the danger more than anything else. The intrigue and subtle maneuverings that he could achieve astounded even his ego. And with the other two, he really could be running Sunnydale by now, easily.   
  
Images replaced the numbers in his vision, a blonde gril, skinny and not as tall as some others. Buffy Summers, the Slayer, or whatever you wanted to call her, was who stopped him from running this place. Despite all their efforts, they couldn't even shake her.   
  
He was sure she would figure out who killed Katrina, if she ever heard the dead girl's name.   
  
He could see it now: in a righteous stroke of martyrdom, she should have gone to the police and tell them everything, confessing to them her dirty sin and feel peace in the fact that she was still in the right, that even as a murderer, she could still grasp on to that tiny holy principal.   
  
Bull shit.   
  
By now she knew the name of the girl, and who had killed her. If she didn't already know that the trio had killed her, (that's right, they all killed her, not just himself!), then she would within a day or so, and that gave him precious little time.   
  
Flashing another self-satisfied grin, he stood and sauntered into the main room, pushing away the thick dark curtain that held back most of the light. The others sat in front of their computers, no doubt looking at porn, or some other dubious activity. No time for their foibles, he had to be the first to strike.   
  
"Listen up, girls!" he called out from the doorway, still grinning. "I've got a plan..."   
  
He watched the two jump as if they had been pinched, and turned to face him. Jonathan, the short gnomic person, frowned incredulously at Warren.   
  
"Just as long as it doesn't involved murder, Warren."   
  
Andrew flinched as Jonathan spoke of the killing. They were both soft-hearted fools, thought Warren.   
  
"We aren't going to kill anyone for you, we came to that decision while you were... away." he hesitated at the last.  
  
They all knew who was in charge, and it definitely wasn't either of these two.   
  
"That's right," Andrew spoke up from his chair, then immediately tried to sink back into it, obviously regretting he had spoken. "We aren't killers, just super-villains." he finished meekly.   
  
They disgusted Warren to no end, but he needed them. Let them quiver and cower at the thought of a dead body, he wouldn't.   
  
"When did this become a democracy, kids?"   
  
It was never a democracy: he led, they followed.   
  
"You'll do what I need you to do, or we'll all go down with the ship."   
  
Andrew looked as if that scenario wasn't all bad.   
  
Moving from the doorway, Warren pulled a small remote control from his pocket and held it out to the other two.   
  
"We got her this time boys, and we won't even have to lift a finger."   
  
-----------   
  
Buffy continued to stare at her reflection. Blonde hair hanging just above her shoulders framed a red face. Red because she had just sobbingly confessed her...   
  
What was the thing between her and Spike?  
  
Certainly not a relationship -- !   
  
Tara oddly seemed to understand, but maybe she was just trying to make her feel better. Buffy didn't want to feel better, she was wrong, what she did was wrong...   
  
So why did she do it?   
  
With a shuddering sigh, she buried her face in the washcloth again.   
  
"Buffy...?" called a voice from behind the closed bathroom door.   
  
Dawn.   
  
How would Dawn look at her when she found out?   
  
"Are... Are you okay?" she asked, hesitantly pushing the door open a bit.   
  
Buffy loved her sister dearly, she might understand if she knew... but buffy would never tell her.  
  
"I'm okay, Dawn. What are you doing up this late?"   
  
The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her sister didn't like being reminded that she was still a kid. But that's what she was, no matter how she felt about it. More then one time Dawn had gotten her and the Scoobies into considerable trouble.   
  
Indignantly, Dawn stormed in, fixing Buffy with a furious glare.   
  
"It's not that late, Buffy! Anyway, I've still got some homework to do." she said, trying to sound as casual as possible, but she failed horribly.   
  
Her glare was still fixed on Buffy, though a little worry tinted the edges of her anger now.   
  
With a grimace, Buffy saw that her face was still puffed and red.   
  
"What happened?" she asked, her glare melting away to be replaced with concern. "You've been crying!"   
  
Her accusation came with a squeak.   
  
"Dawn, go to bed! You've got school tomorrow and it is late."   
  
Standing, she threw the cloth into the sink and pushed past her sister.   
  
Tara had tried to convince her to go check on Spike, see if he was okay. He had to be okay, he'd taken worse punishment from Glory and was just fine. A chill ran down her spine. He had just lain there, taking what she was pounding him with. Smiling affectionately, even!   
  
"Don't wait up for me this time, Dawn. You need sleep!"   
  
It seemed she couldn't keep herself away from the vampire. God he had to be okay!   
  
Ignoring Dawn's protests, she rushed downstairs. She grabbed her coat and hurriedly slipped it on. She was shaking. Tara was right about one thing, she couldn't convince herself that she didn't love him.   
  
Why did she let herself act like this? She had beaten the shit out of him on countless occasions, why was she so concerned now? No more questions... it had happened. Focusing her Slayer energies, she calmly opened the door. He would be at the cemetery.   
  
------------   
  
Why did he let himself react like this? Pacing a hole through the floor, hands shaking as if he hadn't had a smoke in weeks.   
  
Bloody Slayer, his bloody Slayer.   
  
Light flashed as he lit his cigarette. He shoved between his swollen lips and pulled -- smoke out of it. In his mind, idle fantasies were playing. Buffy came and cleaned his wounds, telling him how much she loved him, how she was so sorry.   
  
Not bloodly likely.   
  
If she was even still awake, she would be more concerned with absolving her own sin than his.   
  
He flicked the finished smoke to the ground and snubbed it under-foot.  
  
Bloody Slayer.   
  
Suddenly, he became aware of said Slayer standing outside the entrance of his crypt. Forcing himself to stop shaking and pacing, he casually walked to the door, awaiting the knock. He waited -- for what seemed like an eternity, then he heard a quiet knock. He opened the door and stepped back. She had been crying.   
  
"'lo luv..." he mumbled, giving his best smile despite the swollen state of his face.   
  
She looked as if she would hug him any moment, but instead, she pushed past him, into the main room, hands on hips, lips pursed in a considering gaze.   
  
"Whut brings you 'round these parts?"   
  
He was surrounded by cigarette butts. He had one eye swollen shut, and various cuts and scrapes dotting his face.   
  
Buffy took a deep breath: he knew a woman was about to lecture him when she had that expression on her face. But nothing came out of her open mouth, and her eyes misted   
  
"I told Tara..." she finally managed to get out.   
  
Tears rolling down her face, she told him everything Tara had said about -- her. She didn't come back wrong, she was fine, and the feelings she had were normal, even expected. She sounded disappointed when she said nothing was wrong with her.   
  
Disappointed!   
  
Her hips swayed slightly as she walked toward him, a hand reaching up, brushing his face.   
  
"God, I'm so sorry..."she said quietly, as if she didn't want him to hear. "I've been going about this the wrong way..."   
  
She almost looked as if she were debating with herself.   
  
Going about this the wrong way? Obviously Tara's influence.   
  
"Let... Let me clean you up..."   
  
He stood, gaping.   
  
--------------------   
  
He recalled the previous night, all his idle dreams coming true… well, his decidedly less sexual dreams. She didn't stay after she had cleaned him up, just mumbled something about having to get back before sunrise and flitted away, as if she didn't have a care in the world. He would have to talk to her about these mood swings of hers, he thought she had gotten over the skulking about being brought back.   
  
Now he waited, expecting her to return with a vengeance, making up for her lack of defenses the night before. But she didn't. Night felt, and he was still sitting, fidgeting in his crypt like a caged rat.   
  
He wasn't going to be Buffy bloody Summers' lapdog! With a grunt of determination, he stood and left his crypt. Time for a bit of fun. Besides, he hadn't killed himself a demon in days… but strangely, that didn't seem to matter that much anymore...   
  
No! He was letting himself be distracted. There had to be some kind of apocalypse going on, somewhere. So that's how he found himself sitting at Willy's bar, drowning in drink and bored to tears.   
  
Shouldn't be here, demons usually didn't like him hanging around this place, but apparently they understood his mood and left him alone. Hell, he had gone soft, he just had to admit it himself. A slimey sort of demon sat beside him, sucking on a bottle of Jack Daniels.   
  
"Does it look like I've gone soft to you, mate?" he asked the thing, without turning to it.   
  
"Spike, you kill your own kind -- and you hardly come to poker night anymore, you're soft as a human babe." -- spoke the demon in a gruff voice, one un-used to human dialect.   
  
"Listen, mate! I'm still big an' bad as ever. Watch your tongue!" -- slurred Spike --. Maybe it was time for him to go.   
  
Drinking always led to something terrible, usually.   
  
Stumbling to his feet, he made his way out of the bar on shaky legs. He had to find a bit of fun before he ripped his hair out. What kind of trouble had been walking the streets of Sunnydale these days?   
  
Nothing. Just your run of the mill vampires and demons. Well, if you wanted to count that troupe of nerds as a big bad…   
  
A plan popped into his head: that trio had been bothering Buffy lately, what with there little experiments and the such. He would take care of that problem, somehow. The chip made it extremely hard to stop them from bending him over their knee and spanking him if they bloody well pleased, but determination and a considerably non-sober attitude won out over reason, and he decided to search them out.   
  
Where to go though? They scurried out of their hole sometime back and could be anywhere.   
  
This was hopeless, less then hopeless. If they were even in the city, it would take months to find them, and they would probably just move off again.   
  
With all the sensible reasoning running through his head, it was a wonder that he found himself in front of an old, burned out shelter, looking at a door.   
  
What had brought him here?   
  
Gut feeling, most likely, and Spike liked following his gut.   
  
He kicked the door down violently, splinters flying in every direction as the rotted, twisted wood broke with hardly a touch, and he was sent tumbling to the ground. His head spun, and he pushed himself up. The entire place was dark, and dust lay an inch thick on everything in sight.   
  
'Oh, swell gut feeling Spike!' he thought to himself.  
  
As he turned to go, something caught his eye: the glint of newly restored hinges across the room. Why would this abandoned place need new hinges? Well, a vampire nest was as good a reason as any and he walked through the dust and mildew toward the door. Suspicions paid off, and he smiled in triumph as the spanking new door came into view.   
  
Very suddenly, his danger sense triggered something in his mind, and he turned around just in time to see Warren. Thoughts raced through his head: he could rush past the scrawny boy, with little to no hurt done to himself. Opening his mouth, his words were cut off by sudden jolts of electricity, leaping from pore to pore, racking his entire body with pain and eventually, numbness.   
  
He fought, sending wild kicks and punches, trying to see through the haze. A blow connected, luckily, and Warren was thrown back a full ten feet before colliding with the opposite wall. Unluckily, pain exploded in his head, and with the shock, he slowly began to lose consciousness. Darkness closed in, and his last thoughts were that the door he had smashed into bits was back, fully intact, and the dust looked as if he had never come through. 


	2. A Message

Chapter 1: A message   
  
It was the first regular demon attack in what seemed like forever, but it was nothing special. No people eating old lady, no singing and dancing nightmare, just a regular old demon attack.   
  
She loved it.   
  
It was also the first demon to show it's face in what could have been an equal forever, though it had really only been a few days. Of course, people had died, and that was bad, but she could not do anything about it. And now that she could finally put her hands on this demon, she had to admit that she couldn't get over the excitement of a good slay.   
  
No one had argued with her when she had decided to go after the demon. They knew she needed the killing trill, if not why she did. Spike hadn't been seen since she had cared for him… not that it worried her in any way, it was just a curiosity. He usually lurked about somewhere, no matter what she did. She was surprise -- a little affection on her part would send him reeling. No matter, he would show up eventually, and probably at the most inopportune time possible.   
  
Pushing the vampire from her mind, she focused on more important matters: slaying.   
  
The smell accosted her nose first, a mixture of bio-waste and rotting flesh. She never thought she would welcome that smell. A cave loomed ahead: that's where the smell was wafting from, that's where she was going. Hefting her cross-bow, she stormed into the cave with her mind set on the kill.   
  
Nothing.   
  
No demon in the cave, no bone littering the floor, not even an alter or anything that would suggest a demon had been here. But the smell was stronger than before.   
  
A flicker of movement caught her eye and she turned slowly, readying the bolt. Again, nothing. -- She sometimes enjoyed a good chase, not much lately, but sometimes still. With a deep breath, she kept absolutely silent, listening for a sound to betray the occupant   
  
Spinning, she loosen the crossbow bolt into the darkness, and was pleased when she heard it thudded into something other then stone. Without pause to celebrate, she rushed into the darkness ready to finish the job. Frustration boiled as again, nothing was there. She got only little warning before a foot landed in the small of her back and sent her flying into the cave wall in front of her. An extremely powerful arm slammed into her neck, all but pinning her against the wall. She was ready to scream, anger almost blinding her vision.   
  
"You can't kill me, Slayer! And I certainly can't kill you..." a voice whispered from behind her.   
  
She was amazed to find that she was dejected that it wasn't Spike who held her against the wall.   
  
"I am just a messenger, and you will listen to my message."   
  
The voice was smooth, almost musical in tone.  
  
"What do you...?"   
  
She was cut off as the arm tightened, allowing no more breath in or out of her throat.  
  
"I said you would listen, Slayer! I may not be able to kill you, but if you don't cooperate, you will wish I had."   
  
She tried to swallow, but failed horribly. The arm was so strong, she felt almost normal under it. Slowly, she nodded, and somehow she knew the thing was smiling.   
  
"That's good..."   
  
The arm disappeared and she fell to the cave floor, gasping for air through a burning throat.   
  
What the hell was this thing?   
  
"I told you, I am only a messenger..."   
  
Buffy's mind raced. Had it read her thoughts? Well, if it did, it made no further show of it.   
  
Standing, she readjusted her footing and flicked her hair out of her face.   
  
"Alright, messenger boy, what's so important?" her voice rasped slightly.   
  
"Before I begin, know that I cannot tell you who sent me, and I will not betray any confidences of what I am..." the voice whispered.  
  
  
He… yes, he… sounded bitter.   
  
As she turned to face him, she was giving a shock. The man looked middle-aged, with flecks of white hair above his ears and small lines surrounding his eyes. He looked like a completely normal forty year old, but the arm still felt as if it were on her neck.   
  
She nodded quickly --, motioning him to continue. He did smile this time.   
  
"Good..." he said, even more casual than before, his hands hanging at his sides, and his eyes hardly concerned. "The message is simply this, 'We have your vampire, he is ours now, you will meet us at a location specified later.' That is all."   
  
She clicked her mouth shut forcefully. That was it? All that hustle for a one line message, with nothing about what they intended to do with 'Her vampire' or which vampire, for that matter.   
  
"If I may suggest, Slayer, this sounds like a trap, if I ever saw one..." -- spoke the man, as if making conversation. "In any case, you have to choose: will you meet the ones who have your vampire, or will you not?"   
  
"I... yes, I will meet them."   
  
It didn't matter who they held, if they were able to summon -- a 'messenger' like this, then she had to find out what they wanted.   
  
The man seemed to hesitate, then nodded with a sigh. For once, an emotion twigged in his eyes: bitterness. And he burst into flames. Buffy could only stand, starring. The body burned almost as quickly as a dusted vampire, and left behind a small pile of ash.   
  
What kind of messenger, killed itself after delivering a message? For that matter, what kind of messenger demanded to know an answer?   
  
But she quickly put those questions beside Spike at the back of her mind as she planned her next move. She had to call Angel, he could be the one they held. Then she would have to call Giles.   
  
Sighing with exasperation, she stepped over the dust and out of the cave. 


	3. Waking

Chapter 2:  
  
"So, don't have any more info on our messenger?" Buffy had the Scoobies scouring through the multitude of books they had left. The search came up empty handed, and worse, Giles had no idea what it was despite his numerous resources.  
  
"You have to understand, my relations with the council are strained at best." Giles sounded tired. "From what I've been able to gather, such messengers have been used throughout the ages but the correct incantation to summon them has to be difficult." He had already told her that, nothing useful. "Buffy, you know I will return if you need me..." she didn't let him finish.  
  
"No Giles, I don't want to inconvenience you. If things get hot down here, I'll call back." she replace the phone on its hook and turned to the room. Xander and Anya sat together, just opposite of Willow and Tara. Though the two witches weren't exactly sitting together. Dawn sat on the counter, looking rather bored and swinging her legs.  
  
"Nothing?" Willow asked quietly. Shaking her head, Buffy returned to the table and sat with a sigh. "Oh..." Willow lowered her eyes to the table top.  
  
"Hey, the guy said he can't kill you, I say we just be thankful he's ashed." Xander spoke up with a grin.  
  
"It's not that easy dear, just because he can't kill, doesn't mean he can't mutilate you to the point of death, but keep you alive." Anya said in a casual tone, as if pointing out the fact that the sun was still bright.  
  
"Anya's right, he threatened me..." Buffy's hand went unconsciously to her neck. "I'd feel better if I knew what I was dealing with next time one of those shows up."  
  
"We've already looked through every book, I don't think we will know what it is until it decides to tell us." Willow looked up from the table, books lay everywhere in front of them. "If all he does is deliver messages, then I think we shouldn't worry."  
  
"If that's all he does..." Tara spoke the words in everyone's mind. What if he could do more? Though Buffy had other things on her mind, Spike hadn't been seen in a week.  
  
------  
  
Spike slowly opened his eyes, and he realized he was famished. Dull light flooded his vision for a second, then he slowly began to make out images. Well, image really. In front of him, a mirror reflected a second mirror to his back. Slightly disturbing, but he hadn't the need for a mirror in quite some time. Then he saw that the ceiling and the floor were mirrors as well, along with the other two walls. This could get annoying. There was no source for the light, but it flooded the small box he was in. He couldn't stand in here, only crouch, nor could he lay out fully. All he muscles screamed at him, he needed blood.  
  
"Looks like he is awake..." a voice called out from the outside of the box. "Why is he awake?" the voice was urgent.  
  
"Don't wet yourself, he can't see us." a second voice answered quietly.  
  
It was Warren, the other voice was probably one of the others. So, they thought they could keep William the Bloody in a cage eh? Violently, he threw himself against the fragile glass wall, and rebounded into the other side with a thud. Nothing broke, he didn't even feel it move.  
  
"Yes, he is definatly awake!" the voice yelled. "He's not supposed to be awake yet!"  
  
"I said don't worry, just to show you..." suddenly, Spike felt himself slipping into darkness again.  
  
When he woke this time, the sent of blood was his first registered thought. Grabbing the bag without looking, Spike tore into the plastic and hungrily drained away all the blood contained within. Warmth slowly spread throughout his entire body and for a moment, there was bliss. Then, he remembered a time when he was held captive, and they had tried to poison him. He threw away the emptied bag with a curse and shot his eyes open. Still the same box, and his muscles were more cramped then before. "If you think you can poison me..!" he began with a growl, but was cut off.  
  
"Glad to see your awake on schedule this time Spike..." Warren said smugly. "But we wouldn't poison you, not yet anyway."  
  
"Don't taunt him Warren." a second voice.  
  
"Whut the hell do you kiddies want?" Spike unsurprisingly wasn't in the mood to be played like this. The room was really starting to aggravate him.  
  
"Well, now that we have the uncomfortable small talk over, I think we can get to business." Warren sounded a bit to cocky in Spike's mind. The mirrors were suddenly gone, and he was curled up in the middle of a large room. The trio of nerds surrounded him. Actually, Warren loomed over him, the other two looked on from a distance. Spike tried to stand, but something prevented him, the box was still around him. He growled. "I'll make this blunt, and to the point Spike. We want you to kill the Slayer for us."  
  
Spike laughed, he laughed hard, for a long time. "Are you bloody stupid?" he asked, the idea was ludicrous. He would never kill Buffy, maybe hurt her a bit, but never kill her. "I wouldn't kill her even if it meant gettin' this bloody chip outta my brain."  
  
"I guess you aren't ready to talk then..." the mirrors returned around him, but he didn't slip into unconsciousness this time. For some reason, the chip in his head went off, it didn't send the jolts of pain just to his head this time. His entire arm was aflame, or so it felt. And slowly, the pain stretched to touch every part of him. He was in agony, and every time the pain traveled, his body flailed out and slammed against the now electrified walls. A picture flooded his vision now, of his own making, Buffy. He clung to that image, even as the pain spread to his brain, and he blacked out.  
  
----------  
  
"Spike." his eyes fluttered open, only a dull ache was left of the pain that tortured him before. The mirrored walls met him when he gathered sight, and he felt like he could cry. "Are you ready to talk now Spike?" Warren asked quietly, he thought he could smell the blood running through the youth. He was so hungry. "Because we can continue your treatment until you are ready." Spike lay there, not speaking for a time. What could he do, not escape, and he couldn't deny them.  
  
"Just kill me kid, because I ain't gonna help you..." he managed to get out eventually. He always feared it would end like this, helpless.  
  
"We aren't going to kill you Spike, you'll come over eventually." Spike almost did cry then, it would be so much easier if they would just kill him. "Now, are you ready to talk?" Warren's voice was grating.  
  
"Sod off..." he mumbled just before the pain started again. It followed the same pattern as before, but was much more intense. The pain was all he could think about, nothing saved him this time. He fell into blackness.  
  
His eyes shot open again, and the pain was still wracking his body to shreds. He couldn't take much more of this. Sooner or later he would crack, if only they would kill him.... Why didn't Buffy come for him, surely she would be looking for him. Unless she just felt it convenient to be rid of him. He was enraged, at everything. But he knew he couldn't kill her. He just couldn't... But he had to do something.  
  
"I'm ready to talk..." he whispered, keeping his eyes shut tightly, forcing a tear from his eye. 


End file.
